Explore "Theater of the Gods" by Pablo Neruda on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It is like this on the coast.
Suddenly, contorted, harsh, piled up, static, collapsing, either tenacious theaters, or ships and corridors or rolling severed limbs: it is like this on the coast, the rocky lunar slope, the grapes of granite.
Orange stains of oxide, green seams, above the calcareous peace, that the sea foam strikes with its keys or dawn with its rose these stones are like this: no one knows if they came from the sea or will return to the sea, something astonished them while they lived, and they faltered in the stillness and constructed a dead city.
A city without cries, without kitchens, a solemn ring of purity, tumbling pure shapes in a confusion without resurrection, in a crowd that lost its vision, in a gray monastery condemned to the naked truth of its gods.